


The Desertion Job

by foundfamilyvevo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gen, OT5 Friendship, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 17:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundfamilyvevo/pseuds/foundfamilyvevo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn is good at what he does, except for the whole 'detached' thing.</p><p>(Prompt: Gen/friendship OT5. A spy/James Bond style AU. I'd love something dark & dramatic, where the boys have been at the agency for a while, worked together, and bonded with each other despite rules that they aren't supposed to form ~attachments. Then when they are all on a mission together, something goes wrong and one of them gets captured, and the other 4 decide to break protocol and go to rescue him, while figuring out how to complete the mission/stop the villain.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Desertion Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starmagnitudesix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starmagnitudesix/gifts).



> massive thank you to tori tumblr user poppunk1d for beta-reading this and to the folks at the ot5 fic exchange for running such a great lil ficathon! title is a leverage reference.

 

Zayn's lucky that everyone's too focused on the new assignment to mind him being a little late to training on Wednesday morning. Except Liam, who seems reproving at first, but accepts Zayn's reason of an assassin waiting for him at the end of his street when he left his house.

“Oi, Zayn,” chides Harry with a yawn, from where he's doing his stretches, “no excuses.” Zayn sticks his tongue out at him and turns to get his training gear out of the lockers.

Liam frowns, murmurs to Harry, “you sleeping okay?” and like a gentle tide he knew was coming, Zayn remembers all the things they do that they're not supposed to.

“Not as well as usual,” Harry answers.

 _Don't_ is one of the words Zayn hears most from the higher-ups, HQ – _don't_ leave without checking out, _don't_ admit weaknesses, _don't_ form attachments.

“Is it the nightmares?” Liam's gaze follows Niall as he flips, and takes a dive. The lasers almost brush him, but never do. He's too good for practice drones, Zayn thinks, pride tugging at his chest. _Don't form attachments._

“Yeah,” Harry says quietly. _Don't admit weakness._

“We cut it too close last time,” Louis adds, making Zayn jump as he walks up behind him, “but it won't happen again.”

Cutting it too close is a nice way of putting it. The memory is vivid as hell to Zayn, still; Harry with a gun to his head, safety off - Liam two floors away, outnumbered - Louis negotiating as if the threat to Harry's life meant nothing. Lines of code flying from Zayn's fingertips, attempting to get the doors open for Niall when all he could see was the security footage of Harry's life hanging by a thread. Harry's face expressionless, numb, withdrawn to protect himself from the fear.

They trust each other completely. Attachments are detrimental to efficiency, for sure, but trust is intrinsic to their operation as a group. It's why none of them were scared once Louis convinced the man to hand the gun to him. Stalling for time with a gun to your teammate's head is a basic skill, pretty much on Louis's job description, but apparently Harry has yet to recover.

“Thirty-point-eight seconds,” Liam calls, as Niall slaps the button on the wall.

Niall rests his head on the wall. There are beads of sweat forming against his brow. He looks displeased with himself, but before any of them can say anything else, a buzz echoes through Zayn's earpiece. The other four stop, so it's happening to them too.

“C'mon,” says Liam, as Harry helps Niall to his feet. “Let's go.”

Pre-assignment jitters have been flowing through the group all week. Liam has been trying to solve everyone's problems. Niall has been drilling since he woke up, and even though to someone else he might seem relaxed, they know him better than that. Louis has been teasing and joking with Zayn but Zayn hasn't had a lot to say back. Harry's been distant.

They file through the doorway in usual formation even though they're in HQ and well protected. (Liam says they're always in danger, and he's probably right.) Louis goes first, then Harry, then Niall, then Zayn, and Liam walks at the back. It's a protective formation, vulnerable in the middle with lethal force on either end. Zayn knows they keep him closest to Liam because his own fighting is sub-par, but he's not complaining. He prefers safety to pride.

There are two floors between their practice room and the assignment office they've been called to, which is enough time for their casual chatter to fade to their usual semi-telepathic silence. Louis is being very cocky and deliberate with his movements, and his hands are in his pockets. Niall, normally smiley, has let his face fall, rest, become neutral. Liam is standing about half an inch further back than he normally would behind Zayn. His breathing is steadied.

Stepping into the nearest free elevator, Zayn can't help but check that all three of its exits are operating. His mum used to do head counts of him and his sisters like that – counting with her eyes, constant monitoring. Most mums would make good secret agents, he thinks, they could work in surveillance.

Zayn misses his family a lot. HQ don't know that, but the boys do. All their information is supposed to be classified and shared with HQ only, but it doesn't work that way, not really.

The elevator halts, and the doors slide open. The assignment office is devoid of life. Liam and Louis sit together at the front, and Niall sits between Zayn and Harry at the back. They're all entering their own head space because as soon as the briefing's over, they'll be hitting the road.

Zayn envisages patterns of code. Normally, there's a clinical, mathematical nature to the way hackers view numbers, but Zayn has always had a talent for visualisation. It's what made him good at art when he was young, and it's what makes him good at beating systems now.

“All good?” says Liam, to the room at large. There's silence, which generally means yes. He gets up and presses his hand to the scanner on the wall. It takes his fingerprints and then, once he's cleared, starts a projection onto the wall opposite where the other four still sit.

Information fills the display – there are photographs, birth dates, stats, biographies. It's highlighted in colours by person and priority – for example, bits highlighted green are information most useful to Zayn, while things in blue are aimed at Liam and yellow are for Harry, and so on. Things in green include the type of security system in the buildings, the geographical location and quality of the wifi, the computer system and the type of firewalls he might encounter.

The difference between his part and Harry's is always large. Harry's reads things like ' _has his coffee two sugars, splash (1/5_ _th_ _of a cup) of milk; enjoys eye contact as it is handed to him'_ and ' _take the yearbook approach – play on the anti-victimisation. He wants your pity but he has to make you earn giving it to him.'_ And really, Zayn's pretty sure he's got the easier job of the two of them.

“Ready,” says Louis. He's almost always first to be ready, unless –

“Ready,” says Niall. He's the only person who sometimes finishes before Louis does. Niall has an amazing memory, with powerful attention to detail. Louis is just impatient.

Zayn reads his own sections once or twice more, cementing them in his mind, and then sits back. “Ready.”

“Ready,” agrees Harry.

They don't rush Liam, not after that one time in Morocco. He takes his time, and then has Niall read it out to him, closing his eyes to listen. One day, HQ will get their heads around the idea that not everyone best absorbs information in the form of visible words. Until then, Liam will make do.

“Ready,” Liam decides. He stands, and they stand with him. “Fifteen minutes,” he tells them, “meet in the lobby.”

 

And so, several plane flights under constantly changing identification, a two hour train ride, one attempt on Harry's life, and a drive into the beautiful and rich middle of nowhere in Vermont later, Zayn finds himself with Louis, scaling the side of a building.

He's trying to disarm an antenna on the roof, one that would signal for help from the neighbouring law enforcement if it went off. While they could override any local police force, it would still be easier without them interfering, besides the fact that they may have accepted bribes from the target. Usually this would be more a job for Niall, but seeing as he's in position elsewhere, Zayn continues to carefully pull himself up, trying to avoid swinging in front of too many windows.

The chill from the breeze cuts at his skin through his thin jumpsuit, but he has the training to keep his body from shivering, knows how to quickly flex his fingers without letting go of his handhold to keep them from going numb.

“What floor are you at, Zayn?” asks Liam, voice crackly and hushed over the intercom. Ear pieces are the god-send of all secret agents.

“Two from the top,” Zayn grunts, focusing on lifting himself up and over a windowsill. “Is Harry ready?”

“Affirmative,” says Harry smugly. “Two feet from the front door. Not even any proper extraneous security.”

Niall and Louis snort together. “Amateur,” Zayn nods. He can see the overhang of the roof now, only a few metres out of reach.

The operation is simple. Someone in this house possesses incriminating documents they shouldn't have, hidden in a safe that's already been identified through an intel shot they received. It's a step-by-step, play-your-part type mission.

Zayn disables the antenna carefully, separating the wires one by one until it comes free from its hold. “Go,” he says.

“Going,” reply Harry and Liam together.

Zayn swings himself down the roof again to the top window on the right. It was just a guess based on the blueprints, but it looks like Louis was right; it's the surveillance room. There are two armed men sitting at the screens, and one pacing and talking further in the room.

“Draw them,” he murmurs, and Liam makes an affirmative noise. There's a thud, a shout, and a few more thuds from Liam's end. Sure enough, one of the guards sits up, pointing at his screen. There's hurried discussion and then he and the pacing one leave.

Louis crouches low on the windowsill and rests a dart in his mouth. It's always frightening to watch him do that. He takes a breath and kicks the window in, and, grabbing both the security guard's wrists, stabs him in the neck with the dart. There's a brief struggle, but Louis is stronger than he looks, and that dart is coated in a fast-working tranquiliser Louis frequently claims he's going to marry.

Giving Zayn the nod when the guard is unconscious, Louis takes a moment to recover as Zayn eases himself in through the window and takes in his surroundings. The computer system is good, not state-of-the-art, but not sloppy. Security camera footage tile the screens. With a few taps of the keys, Zayn brings up the footage of the other three.

“See you soon,” says Louis. He always says something like that, part casual, part threatening, part asking.

“See you soon,” Zayn answers firmly.

Louis disappears into the corridor and Zayn turns his attention to his computer job. Niall hasn't reached the safe yet, so his security camera is blank. Liam is getting his breath back after his fight, and Harry is being invited in through the front door. Harry stops, opens his arms and giving the target – who Zayn _thinks_ was named Winston, but he could be wrong, targets' names all blend together – a quick hug. Zayn messes with the audio until he can bring it up enough to hear Harry chattering away about how pleased he is to be there and how lucky they are to have a business arrangement like this one. He notes Harry's flailing limbs leading him to the picture frame on the wall, where he subtly deposits something. That'll be the key. If Zayn hadn't watched Harry pickpocket a million times before, he wouldn't have even known it happened.

“I'm sorry,” says the target, slowly, seeming to balance between uncomfortable and curious, “I'm not quite sure what arrangement we have?”

“Micro-expressions, Harry,” Louis reminds, “don't ham it. Subtle disappointment.”

Watching Harry, you wouldn't know someone is talking in his ear. His face falls the tiniest bit. “Oh. Well, I'm sure I can make you a convincing offer! Give me a chance. My client is an entrepreneur, and I really do think we can offer your business something unique.” His let-down tone is perfectly almost masked by renewed enthusiasm.

The target considers Harry, eyes difficult to read. “Offer,” he says, after a moment. “Always time for offers.”

He beckons for Harry to follow him in, and Louis mutters, “Nailed it, now you've just got to lead him on a bit.”

Harry rolls his eyes at the security camera. Zayn snorts.

“Okay, Liam, you go in through the front door and retrieve the key,” Louis says, “and get it to Niall. Zayn, once he's taken out the monitor guards at the front, we need you to hack. Fast.”

“As opposed to slowly,” Zayn mutters.

There's a bang; Zayn glances over and sees Liam yanking the two guards at the door off screen.

“Hush,” says Louis. “Don't undermine me.” The banter is part of the set-up. It keeps the adrenaline running and controlled, and keeps Louis from doing anything stupid. (Usually).

Liam reappears on screen, delicately stepping over the unconscious security guard on the ground and slipping into the house. He crosses cameras 2 and 5 before reaching the corridor with the painting. “Got it.”

Pulling open the programming folder, Zayn is met with jumbles of letters and numbers and he's pulled right into his zone, everything else falling away. Code is a different entity to people, communicates in a different language, and Zayn often feels he speaks it better.

“Zayn,” Louis murmurs, bringing him back down to earth slightly, “How long til Liam can get through to Niall?”

“First room is safe,” answers Zayn, doing a quick sweep of the cams before returning to rewriting the security code. “Working on the door.”

There's a bang through the ear pieces, followed by a few grunts. “Sorry,” pants Liam, “nearly there.”

Harry has spread himself out against the target's desk, and his eyes are bright and focused.

“Got it.” Zayn breathes out and sits back for a moment as _alarm disabled_ flashes on his screen. Liam can get through to Niall.

There's fumbling, and then Niall says, “Bloody hell, I hate being planted.”

“Three hours isn't that bad,” says Liam, in a tone that's probably meant to be bolstering. “Here's the key.”

“Remember,” Louis begins, but Niall cuts in.

“Fakes, things on the wall that clash with the decor, I know. I can find a safe, Louis.”

Louis huffs. “Fine. Be safe.”

Zayn keeps his gaze on the security cameras, watching for movement where there shouldn't be. The target is fully absorbed in what appears to have become a deep conversation with Harry. Louis is guarding their exit, concealed by a window the floor down. Liam has vanished back out of the room, and should come back onto cam any second.

“Found it,” says Niall, and removes his earpiece, setting it down on the bookshelf next to him. He puts the painting he's removed on the ground, and slides the key into the lock. Turning it, a door opens up in the wall. There's a large dark box in the wall behind it which must be the safe.

They all go into an alert, anticipatory silence as Niall crouches by the safe. He carefully turns dials and rests his ear to it and listens. He's explained the process to Zayn numerous times, all this stuff to do with feeling tiny clicks and finding numbers. All Zayn can say for sure is that Niall is excellent at what he does.

There's movement on one of the screens. Zayn sits up, looks closer. Two young men are crossing near where Liam was, dressed as security but too young to be experienced. “Watch out, Liam.”

No response.

“Liam?” says Louis. “Answer, now. Breathe out if you can't make sound.”

Still nothing. Harry's face, for the briefest moment, toughens in concern before he conceals it again.

Liam might have been fighting, last time Zayn had heard him, but it hadn't even crossed his mind that he wouldn't win. Liam is a force of nature in a fist fight, precise and powerful and trained.

“I'm going to find him,” Louis decides. “Carry on as you were.”

Reluctantly, Zayn agrees, on behalf of the others too. Harry has got the target on the ropes, almost ready to sign the contract he's being given.

Except, Niall unlocks the safe, and as he eases it opens, alarms fire from every direction, Zayn's screen flashing red. Niall jumps up, ready to flee the scene, but people block the door.

“OUT,” shouts Louis, “Rendezvous in the woods, get OUT!”

Zayn grabs his things and sets to wiping the hard drive of their footage, then shutting down the system. He can hear footsteps approaching, but this is important. They can't be exposed.

Finally, it powers down, and grabbing at his holster, he jumps out of the window.

He's falling, and then his grappling hook hitches on a windowsill, slowing his descent til he can commando roll in the gravel. He probably grazes his shoulders, but he doesn't stop to check. Armed men are spilling out of the front door, so as fast as he can, he tears away into the trees.

“Louis?” he gasps, dodging a branch and taking a left at a large oak tree, “where are you going?”

“Northwest clearing,” answers Louis. Zayn closes his eyes for a second and envisages the map, sees where that clearing they passed yesterday is situated in relation to them now and tries to head that way. “Liam's with me. He's okay, they've hit him with some sort of sedative.”

“'M okay,” reaffirms Liam, dazed. Zayn's heart lifts to his throat. He hates it when this happens to Liam; it feels like someone’s not playing fair.

“Where are the others?” Louis asks.

“I'm alone,” answers Zayn, “they're not with you?”

“Not yet.”

“Louis,” whispers Liam, “my vision's going.”

“You're okay,” Louis insists. “Just tired. Stay awake.”

They carry on in silence for a long while. Zayn tries to keep his internal compass working as the trees get thicker, and not to let worry absorb him.

As he nears the clearing, Harry's voice comes onto com, “On my way. Nearly there.”

“Okay,” says Louis, relief bleeding through his tone. Zayn pushes into the open space as Louis adds, “Niall's with you?”

“No,” says Harry.

Zayn and Louis make eye contact. Zayn sees his fear reflected back at him. _They've got Niall._

“I'm sorry,” breathes Harry, horrified, “I'll go back, I'll –“

“No you won't. Come meet us,” orders Louis, earning an instinctive 'yes, sir'.

Ignoring the buzzing, burning pain in his leg muscles, Zayn sits down on one of the rocks near where Liam is slumped and reaches out to him.

“Hey, mate,” he murmurs, hand on his shoulder.

“He's so out of it,” says Louis, sounding hollow and angry, like they weren't fighting using the exact same method he normally does.

Liam blinks at Zayn, lips moving a little bit like he's trying to form words, but he can't quite manage it. “Don't,” Zayn hushes him. “S'okay. Just breathe. Part the fog, yeah?” They've all had poison and sedative training, of course, but applying that theory in the field is always easier said than done.

The target has Niall. None of them were able to think outside their boxes long enough to realise they had Niall. Zayn uses breathing and focus techniques to stop himself throwing up.

 

Harry reaches them a few minutes later, by which point Liam is almost totally asleep. Zayn's mum always said big guys fall hardest and at the time he thought she meant in love, but there's a good chance she was being literal.

He looks up to check in on Harry, but the sight of his face makes Zayn's jaw drop. There's a large, angry mark, spreading across his cheek up to near his eye, and there's a cut along his jaw that's bleeding.

“Jesus christ,” says Louis, hurrying to him. “What –“

“Figured out I was a diversion,” answers Harry quietly. “He wasn't happy. The ring he wears is sharp.” His voice is regulated carefully to stop it from wobbling, and Zayn can see his eyes glistening with tears.

Harry normally manages to avoid this part of the job, through a combination of their parts and his own. Besides a few unfortunate incidents – the gun one again comes to mind – he normally stays out of danger by staying closest to the heart of it. Seeing Liam like this would hardly be a surprise to Zayn, but it always hurts differently with Harry.

One of the things Louis has always done as leader is therapy work. Harry knows it's okay to walk to the edge of the clearing and cry for a few minutes. _Bottling feelings leads to muscle triggers,_ Louis would always say, but Zayn doesn't know if Louis is one to talk on that front.

Niall. They left Niall behind. Zayn quickly shuts that thought process down.

“I'm calling HQ,” Louis tells him, without looking up from his phone disguised as a notepad.

“Okay,” says Zayn, and goes to sit next to Liam. He's breathing very slowly, jaw slack, one big bear paw of a hand resting on his belly.

“-Retrieval was unsuccessful,” Louis is saying, “Horan was apprehended during our retreat. Requesting permission to reattempt, and to stage rescue.” He listens to the answer, and his face goes tight. “Sir, with all due – Liability? Agent Horan is not a liability. I know my team, that's... I understand, but as soon as Payne's sedative wears off, we'll be good to go again, and we already know the situation. Even if you were to send in a recovery force, they would need us.” There's a beat, and then Louis goes almost pale. “Repeat – no recovery force? The objective -”

Harry comes over and Zayn reaches into his supply bag for first-aid. He doubles as nurse for their team sometimes, when there's nobody else more qualified around to do the job. Harry sits on a tree stump and closes his eyes, face calm as Zayn wipes it clean and starts to dab ointment on the angrier parts of the injury. The only indication of pain is the way Harry clings to Zayn's shirt with one hand, fist tight.

In what appears to be a serene fit of fury, Louis flips his notepad closed and tosses it to the ground. The fire in his eyes is all-too-familiar. “They want us to go back.”

“Go back?” Harry asks, eyes still closed, frown creasing his brow. “To Winston's place, or?”

“To base.”

“What?” Harry jerks away to look up. “We... we can't go back to... without Niall?”

“Apparently.”

The coldest and heaviest of weights has settled in Zayn's chest.

“We're going back,” says Harry, even more slowly than usual. “Like, not to base, but to get Niall. Right?”

Louis takes a deep breath and links his hands behind his head, and Zayn fears either possible response. To go after Niall is a direct disobedience, something taken very seriously at HQ, but _not_ to go after Niall is worse.

“We'll camp here for the night,” says Louis at last, “and go save Niall in the morning.”

And, well. That's that. No one really argues with a Louis who's declared a plan.

While Zayn does his best to find something edible in their supplies (Niall normally does all their cooking), Harry and Louis try to set up their tents without help from Liam. It's going about as well as expected, which is to say, terribly.

Zayn's heart is keeping a good, sensible pace, and his breathing is steady. Despite this control, his concern is still bleeding into his limbs, making his chest tight and his hands shake. Niall has to be okay, he has to be. He's been okay before, they all have been.

Images of Harry with a gun to his head flash before Zayn's eyes, and then older memories, memories of Louis swinging off the edge of a building, of Liam being threatened with drowning, of the time they found explosives in their car engine and Zayn only disabled them with two seconds to spare. He's pulled out of it by the fact that he burns his hand on their battery-operated electric fry pan; he presses his mouth to it and sits for a moment, regaining his calm.

Normally he has more control over his flashbacks than that. This situation has all his past traumas riled.

Eventually they have basically adequate shelter, and sustenance they can probably get down. The sun's nearly disappeared over the horizon. Harry is very quiet when he sits down to eat, and the mark on his face is still mostly red, the swelling brought down only slightly by the treatment Zayn gave it. It must have been a hell of a punch.

Harry winces as he opens his mouth to eat, and Zayn wishes he could help more, but all he can do is offer a few soothing words and a hand on Harry's shoulder, thumb brushing the nape of Harry's neck.

Exhaustion is starting to show on Louis's face when he joins them soon after. He eats like he knows he has to, but has no appetite, which is how Zayn feels too.

A million questions are circling in his head. Are they going back to HQ after this? Is Liam going to be okay with that? Loyalty has always been so important to him. How are they going to break Niall out? How will they make sure that whatever information they were sent to retrieve in the first place stays out of the wrong hands? Is this really them running away?

“Zayn.” Louis nudges him. Zayn goes to apologise, but Louis's face is soft in a way that it very rarely is. “Stay with us,” murmurs Louis, tapping Zayn's temple. “Don't disappear up there.”

“Trying,” says Zayn, the way a normal person would probably say _thanks._

Once they've finished eating they band around Liam, Zayn and Louis with an arm each and Harry on legs, and they carry him to one of the tents. His eyelids almost flutter, which is probably a good sign. They can't know how strong the stuff was, so him waking up before dawn is more hope than anything.

Harry and Liam share one tent, while Zayn and Louis share the other. Zayn's first thought is how he'll never sleep, not after today. Louis squeezes his hand and closes his eyes, and Zayn thinks _oh._ Then he's asleep.

 

He's not sure how long they sleep before the tent is yanked open, but it definitely isn't long enough. Groaning, he pushes his head down into his pillow.

“Louis,” says Liam vehemently – or, as vehemently as possible for someone who's still glassy-eyed and looks like he could topple at any moment, “Louis, we need to talk.”

Louis stirs and sighs. “Now? Not once the sun is up?”

“ _Louis_ ,” Liam insists, and he really does look upset. More awake, which is good, but upset.

Starting to get up, Zayn is stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “You don't have to,” Louis tells him. “You need sleep.”

Zayn wants so badly to agree. He's exhausted and even this thin, weak tent bed feels irresistibly soft. However, looking between their faces, he feels like they could use a referee. The last thing they need at this point in a mission is an explosive argument between Louis and Liam. They don't fight as much as they used to, but when they do, things can still get ugly.

So Zayn drags himself into a sitting position and follows the two of them outside. It's cold, and still very dark, the sun not even beginning to rise in the distance. Harry must still be asleep, since there's no sign of him out here. Zayn has a strong urge to go into the opposite tent and fall asleep curled with his back to Harry's, but no such luck. Liam has started talking.

“What's your game now, Louis? You're so good at planning until you get mad. What now?”

“Can we slow down?” Louis asks. “One question at a time, maybe?”

Liam sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “Hell, what do you want to do if we can't save him by ourselves? Do we go back? You know what happens to agents who try to double-cross and don't have anything to barter with.”

Louis's mouth draws into a straight line, and they consider each other for a moment.

“I don't know,” Louis admits. “I was waiting on you to make that choice.”

“I can't always be here to make the hard choices for you, I'm not –“

“I didn't want to decide anything for you,” interrupts Louis. “If you want, you can – you could pretend, or something, you could say we did it without you.”

Liam stares at him. “Nothing you're saying makes sense.”

“I made a choice you might not have,” Louis elaborates. “Or you would have talked them into it, or something. I know how important our loyalty is to you and if you want to find a way around it, I get it, yeah? And. Whatever.”

“Are you really doing the whole 'go save yourself' thing?” Liam demands, “really? You think I wouldn't prioritise Niall?”

“No!” Louis snaps. “That's not it, bloody hell!”

“Stop,” says Zayn. They stop. Liam turns to look at Zayn, face twisted and confused and afraid. Louis puts his hands over his face and turns away for a moment, breathing.

“I hated making that call without you because I don't want to ruin things for you,” Louis explains, and if they didn't know each other as well as they do, they might have thought he was being casual. But Zayn knows that light tone too well, knows that's Louis saying something important. “I just wanted you to have an out. What we do – what HQ does, I know it's important to you.”

“Nothing's more important to me than you four,” Liam whispers, like it's scary to say and also like he's proud of it. “I'd die for you, you know that.”

Louis's eyes are bright and a little red. “Would you run away for us, though?”

“Yes,” says Liam, only hesitating long enough for Zayn to know he actually thinks about it. Then he sits down in the grass. “Sorry. Dizzy.”

Face softening, Louis tells him, “You need more sleep. C'mon.” Liam lets himself be helped up, and Louis shoots Zayn a little smile. “You need sleep, too. Go to Harry's tent? We'll finish talking.”

Zayn thinks they're past the potentially dangerous stage, and he really is tired. “'Kay. Love you.”

“You too.”

The next few minutes pass in a blur to Zayn; he walks to Harry's tent, crawls in, and flumps in the empty bed Liam left. Harry stirs, cracks open one eye. “Oh,” he mumbles, mostly into his pillow, and then reaches out an arm to flop across Zayn's side. Sometimes Harry's clinginess can be too much for Zayn, but right then, cuddling down into his blankets and telling himself Niall will be fine, it's exactly what he needs.

 

Next thing he knows, he's being shaken awake again, by Liam, and the tent is gone.

“Hey,” says Liam. “Time to go save Niall and possibly become fugitives?”

“Right,” mumbles Zayn. He can't believe they took the tent down without him noticing. He's so tired. “Where are Harry and Louis?” he asks, sitting up.

“Harry's doing yoga in the woods,” shrugs Liam. “Louis is formulating our attack plan.”

“Cool,” says Zayn. It must be early, still, because the sun is low in the sky, but his gnawing anxiety is resurfacing with a vengeance. They could have called in basically anyone to take Niall away once it broke dawn. If not, there's always the faint worried voice at the back of Zayn's mind telling him they could be interrogating Niall, or hurting him.

He and Liam eat a breakfast of leftover scraps together in concerned silence. Harry returns soon enough, only looking very slightly more at universal peace than last night.

“Heard from Louis yet?” Harry asks, and Zayn starts to say “no”, but living up to Louis's usual contrary self, he comes ricocheting back to their campsite, eyes alight and more than slightly dangerous.

“I've got it,” he declares, skidding over and daintily seating himself cross-legged opposite Harry. “I know how we're going to get Niall.”

Louis's plan involves several things HQ would probably never have permitted, and also involves the panicking concept of Zayn doing something other than hacking. Not to mention the sense of impending doom he gets when Louis clarifies, “We need you to grift. Winston hasn't seen you yet.”

“He hasn't seen you yet, either, plus I can't grift,” Zayn points out, but he knows it's no use. Louis probably has another part to play, something vital so that he's very busy. Hopefully he'll be less of a pain that way.

“You can't _fight,_ ” Louis reminds him. “More than you can't grift. This is what we're going to do.”

The plan is outlined in the dirt, discussed over packing up their campsite, repeated while moving back towards Winston's building, and the buzz between them all grows and grows until they fall silent with the weight of it.

 

And then Zayn's standing in front of two of the guards at the front door, breathing and remembering every single thing Harry has ever told him about grifting. He doesn't need to be great at this, he reminds himself. It's not a high-risk mission. He's just a distraction. Really, this is less dangerous than what he normally does.

His palms are _sweating_. “Excuse me,” he says to the guards, “one of our people came by yesterday to talk to one of yours, and he hasn't come back. I was wondering if I could speak to whoever's in charge?”

“We're under tight security at the moment,” answers one of them, frowning. “Come back another day.”

“One of my business people went _missing,”_ Zayn emphasises. He makes eye contact but not for too long; strong, confident eye contact, interspersed between the two people. “I need to see whoever's in charge, or I might have to file an alert with the police.”

The guards exchange looks and Zayn thinks about his sisters, acts like he's talking to them. Harry says that helps him deliver threats convincingly. Zayn's not sure it works for him.

One nods and slides inside, while the other moves to cover the door. There's a slightly awkward silence; Zayn looks at the building windows instead of at his face, clasping his hands in front of him and resisting the urge to clear his throat or rub at his face. Harry said that when they're not used carefully, they can be giveaways.

The door opens. “Come on inside, we're to escort you to him.”

“Thank you,” says Zayn, and then immediately hopes that wasn't weird. Following the first one, the other stands at Zayn's back, and he finds himself intensely missing Liam's safe presence.

Almost on cue, Liam says into his earpiece, “Doing good, Zayn, we're nearly there.”

It's remarkably hard to pretend he's not listening to something, much less not to respond. He keeps his eyes on the walls, looking at the various pieces of art and photographs scattered throughout the hallways. He's herded into an elevator, and as it rises, he feels like his pulse does too, the silence beating _thump-thump-thump_ in his ears. He plays it cool, he hopes.

“We're climbing in the window now,” Liam murmurs. Zayn's so grateful to him for keeping him updated, even if it is hard to act like he's sitting in silence.

They reach the floor and he's ushered out into the corridor and down to Winston's office. He prepares himself as best as he can, since he's never actually _met_ their target face-to-face and it's never not a strange thing.

“Sir,” says one of the guards, poking his head in through the office door. He gets a murmur of approval and then brings Zayn through.

“We're on the second floor,” says Liam, at the same time as Winston stands and reaches across his desk to shake Zayn's hand, introducing himself.

Zayn shakes his hand and says, “Thank you for making time. I understand you're having a busy day around here.”

“Nailed it!” Harry whisper-crows in his ear, as Winston sighs.

“We had a security breach yesterday evening, which you may already know about. Can't be too careful after something like that happens.”

“Of course,” Zayn concedes, not sure what else to say in response.

“Don't be too reserved, Zayn,” Harry warns, as if he can hear Zayn's face or something. Louis hushes Harry quickly. Zayn is starting to experience a strong, anxious desire to have his security cameras back. He doesn't know what's going on.

Winston waves a hand, and dismisses the guards, who fall back to outside the door. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about? A missing employee?”

“Yes,” answers Zayn, sitting up straighter. “We had a man come talk to you yesterday, about our business deal? I'm assuming you received our most recent email about that.”

“I'm not sure I did.” Winston frowns, and Harry, voice extremely quiet, a soft murmur, says,

“Make him feel like that's unprofessional, but don't dig at him. Just seem taken aback.”

Zayn tries. He hopes it works. “Oh. I see. Your tech department must be understaffed, that's okay. Anyhow, our man came by to talk to you and never came back. He hasn't been seen anywhere. Did he at least reach you?”

“I think he reached me, if we're talking about the same man,” answers Winston, as Liam grunts a few times and there are some bangs. “Or boy, really. He was very young.”

“One of our best and brightest interns,” agrees Zayn, “and we're very worried about him. It's not like him to disappear.”

“You're sure it was your boy? Tall, broad, long brown hair?”

“That's him.”

Winston sits back and clasps his hands, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. “I was perhaps a little hostile to your boy yesterday, seeing as his arrival was badly timed with our security breach – I was under the impression he was part of a -”

The rest of what Winston says is garbled by the loud thumps in Zayn's ear, followed by a sharp cry and Harry saying, “Louis!” Then Liam growls, angry and fierce. More thumps. Winston is still talking but Zayn can only feel himself trying to envisage the scene, trying to determine who is making which sounds and where they are and if they're okay.

Silence on both parts, all of a sudden. Winston is giving him a strange look.

“I'm sorry,” says Zayn, slowly, hoping for any sign of life, “that's quite a serious accusation to make.”

“Oh!” Winston quickly shakes his head. “No, no, not an accusation. An explanation, perhaps. But you're saying you didn't hear from him once he left?”

“Not a word,” Zayn confirms.

Finally, there's sound. Liam says, “All clear,” and Harry and Louis confirm. He has to focus on every muscle in his face to stop it from melting into an expression of relief.

“I'm afraid I can't help you,” says Winston, “and I couldn't help your associate either. We're a busy company and now isn't a good time to be approaching any new deals.”

“I assure you, whatever hesitations you had about the deal offered to you, I can help.” _Help_ probably wasn't the best word, he thinks, it was a little clunky. Still.

“Niall!” says Harry, a mixture of relieved and scared. “Niall, where are you?”

“I'm not sure any offer will appeal to us at the current point,” says Winston, and then adds, in a slightly icier tone, “you don't hold that much economic power over us, remember.”

“Of course not,” Zayn agrees, as Liam makes a sound and says, “Over here!”

“Niall?” says Harry.

“It's okay, we're here, we're getting you out,” says Liam, “did they hurt you?”

“We might be able to offer you something, though,” says Zayn.

There's a pause, and then Louis's voice, “Okay, good. Good. Keep hold of those. Quick, Zayn's stalling upstairs, we have to move.”

“Unlikely,” snorts Winston.

“Watch out!” Liam exclaims.

Louis yelps, and a guard who must be right up close to Liam's ear says, “Sir, four of them downstairs!”

Winston looks up, eyes flashing, and Zayn realises in a moment of horror that maybe they're not the only ones wearing ear pieces. The guards bust their way back into the room and Winston stands, and Zayn knows he's not hiding the fear or the recognition in his eyes at all.

A guard grabs his arm, and he fights his instinct to pull away, knowing it'll only get him hurt more. “Compromised,” he mutters, gasping a little in pain as he's shoved into the wall. White hot ache radiates down his back from the impact, and he's momentarily winded.

“Zayn?” demands Liam, “Zayn, are you okay?”

Zayn tries to answer, but now he's got a forearm pressed to his collarbone, keeping him pinned, and he knows if he moves – this is it. This is the time he doesn't make it out. Panic is starting to swell in his head, vibrating along his arms, and normally he can control it but he's thinking of all the times he's nearly been pushed out windows or into knives and how he can't have much more luck left, and –

“Zayn,” says Louis's voice. Warm, sharp, but curling around his name instead of biting at it. “Zayn, we're on our way. Respond if you can. If you can't, stay calm. We've got your back.”

“Let me go,” Zayn manages weakly, aiming it at the guard but also definitely at Louis. They can get out if they leave now, and Niall is safe and with them. That's what's important.

“No way,” answer the guard and Louis together. Louis sounds far more determined.

Winston approaches Zayn, standing just out of reach. His eyes are narrow, evaluating. “Who do you work for?” he asks.

Zayn presses his lips together and says nothing. The pressure against his chest intensifies; there are bangs and yells on com.

“Talk,” Winston orders. “You have no way out.”

“I love it when people say things and they're immediately proven wrong,” says Louis, and Zayn realises it's right there in the room when Winston is barrelled over by the force that is Liam, shoved into the ground before he can draw breath to be surprised. The guard wheels around, but the moment Zayn's free, he kicks the guard in the back of the knee, and Liam forces him down onto Winston. Louis jumps over him and knocks them both out as Liam rushes to Zayn and cradles his face in his hands.

“Are you okay? Were you choked? Dizzy? Did they break anything?”

Zayn keeps shaking his head, even though he _is_ dizzy, and his fingers are trembling, and he might faint. He certainly wouldn't be standing if he didn't have Liam to cling to. He made it another time, one last time that he didn't die, and it feels like nothing he's ever experienced.

“Let's go,” encourages Niall, and god, _Niall,_ he's _safe_. Zayn grabs him and pulls him into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to his forehead, fierce and grateful. Niall hugs him back, and there are bruises littering his arms but he seems unharmed besides. “Go,” reminds Niall, and with Liam's help, Zayn gets to the window where Louis is perched. Louis squeezes Zayn's shoulder with one hand, firing his grappling hook to the roof of the building with the other.

“Grab hold,” Louis encourages, and they all latch onto each other, safety harnesses be damned. Zayn trusts them enough to close his eyes and let himself fall, and sure enough, he's suspended, Liam's arms around his thighs and the hiss of Louis's rope rushing past him as they descend.

There's a car waiting for them under the window, Harry in the driver's seat; Liam pulls the back door open and they all pile in. Zayn's feet are barely off the ground before there's the screech of tires, the smell of exhaust, and they shoot off down the road.

“Nice one,” he hears Louis say to Harry.

“Thanks,” says Harry cheerily, “won't mean anything if we don't beat them out of here.”

Adrenaline is still racing through Zayn, but they're driving for a few minutes before there's even the sound of a horn behind them, and it's ages away. Louis snorts. “Amateur.”

At least a car chase is nothing new. Zayn has total faith in Harry's getaway driving.

“Where are we headed?” asks Niall at last. He doesn't ask about home, but it hangs there, implied in the air.

“I have a friend,” says Harry slowly, shifting to a higher gear as their speed rises. “He lives in Norway, his name is Nick. He won't tell his people about us if we don't tell ours about him, but they'll know what to do with the documents.”

“The documents?” asks Zayn. Niall reaches into his small supplies bag and grins, pulling out a sheath of paper. “You're a legend,” Zayn tells him warmly, and Niall nods, satisfied.

“Really in the middle of nowhere,” Harry continues, “'Cause he does transmission stuff. He's got fields, a farm.”

There's silence, besides the continuing roar of the motor and the occasional horn behind them, and sometimes the screech of their tires when Harry makes sharp turns. They're headed for the airport, Zayn thinks, from the signs.

“A farm could be nice,” says Liam.

“Yeah,” says Louis.

“Okay then,” says Harry, and smiles. “Norway it is.”

Zayn rests his head on Niall's shoulder and murmurs, “I'm glad you're safe.”

“You too,” says Niall. “I love you.”

 _Don't form attachments_. Zayn thinks about how they're never going back, about how they'll have to hide out forever from now on. Thinks about how they're all alive, his four best friends and him, and how improbable that is. “I love you too.”

 


End file.
